


Bottles and Glass

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, M/M, My creepy obsession with Alfred's scars continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deeper and deeper, he'll go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottles and Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MillicentCordelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/gifts).



> For MillicentCordelia, for asking so nicely.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

They're in the library of Wayne manor, when it all... shifts slightly. The lightness and brightness of the banter at the bar drifts out like smoke, and Alfred suddenly becomes very intense, without changing his posture or manner. It's all a bit disorienting, unsettlingly so, in this cozy, intimate place. His eyelids are at half-mast, and he looks almost somnolent, as he fixes Lucius with his gaze and asks him, gravely, and too quietly, “Do you understand what trust is?” He should be slurring his words, after the amount he's had to drink, here and at the bar, but he's not. In Lucius' experience, that's... not a good sign. It means that someone's either not as drunk as they should be, due to custom, or is very good at pretending not to be. Either way, it means that Alfred's used to handling his poison; he's probably had this kind of talk before, under similar circumstances. Fleetingly, Lucius wonders how those other ones went.  
“The definition, or the implications?” He should leave, now. Something about Alfred is dangerous; that much is obvious. But doesn't Lucius just want to know what? Maybe he's getting used to handling his poison, too.  
Alfred flashes his teeth. “It means,” Alfred says, unbuttoning his vest and loosening his tie, “that someone's life is in your hands.” He unbuttons his shirt. Lucius raises his eyebrows. This is... certainly progressing quickly. “This,” he pulls aside his shirt to show a satiny pucker of deep pink scar, “is what I got the last time I trusted someone. This is what your employers did to me. Now, my question to you is, are you who you say you are, or am I due to be perforated again?”  
“Alfred-”  
He holds up a finger. “Not yet. The real question is, do you think you'll be able to succeed where the other fellow failed? Because I'm not likely to be tricked the same way twice.”  
Lucius shakes his head. “I should go.” He doesn't move an inch.  
“No,” Alfred says, “You should stay, and have it out.”  
“I thought we covered this, back at the bar.”  
“We're not at the bar anymore. We're in my home, now. In Bruce's home. In the home made for him by his parents.”  
“Yes, we are.”  
“So, you see, the stakes have changed, as well as the scenery. I've let you in. Now, I need further assurances.”  
“I don't know what I could tell you that I haven't, already.”  
“It's not something you'd say. Anyone can say anything. That's not how you get the feel of someone, is it? You don't know someone through words.”  
“Why don't we have another drink?” It's the last thing they should do, but it'll take Alfred's attention elsewhere. It's too much at once for Lucius, having it all on him, like this. There's always danger. It's everywhere, all the time. Sometimes, it's even welcome.  
“An admirable idea.” Alfred straightens his clothes, pours them each a drink.  
“Your health,” says Alfred.  
“Thank you. To yours,” says Lucius. “How did it happen?” It might be a mistake, but he's not going to get anywhere, for good or ill, by not asking.  
“He was an old mate of mine. I knew him as well as I knew myself. He said he needed a place to stay, so of course, I let him in. And he... made a new door, I guess you could say.”  
Lucius almost asks if it hurt. It occurs to him that Alfred might as well be from a different planet. “How did he...” No, he can't ask that, either.  
“How did he what?” Alfred smiles again, “Open me up? A knife, Lucius. He used a knife. They say that it's supposed to be a substitute. For another penetrative act. As he'd already done that, back when we were in more frequent contact, I suppose he wanted to see how it compared.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
Alfred laughs. “Not as sorry as I was, mate.”  
“Was there any lasting damage?” He has to stop talking about this. But what else can he say?  
“Punctured lung. Squeaks a bit when I exert myself. But, no, they stitched me up, right as rain. If you're really that curious, you can touch.”  
He should really go, now. Now. One of them is going to do something that he'll regret. One of them is going to go too far. But, then, he's already entered too far into this place. So far into it, he hadn't even realized he'd been going anywhere. “I couldn't,” he says halfheartedly.  
“Of course you could.”  
Lucius is a scientist. And science is just one big “I couldn't” answered by “Of course you could.” It's how things are discovered. He raises his hand and allows Alfred to take it, press it to his skin. Lucius swallows, breathes deeply. It feels wrong, somehow; the skin is too smooth. Intellectually, Lucius knows that the unusual texture owes to the irregular reformation of collagen after trauma. “It's an ugly wound,” Lucius says, and immediately regrets it. “That's not what I m-”  
“No. You're perfectly right, Lucius. It is an ugly wound. Another drink is in order, I believe.” He releases Lucius' hand.  
He should go. “Yes. Please.”  
“Thank you,” he says, when Alfred brings it to him.  
“That's nice to hear,” Alfred takes off his tie, “Living with a teenage boy, it doesn't flow as freely as it should.”  
“No, I suppose it wouldn't. Manners aren't usually the first thing on their minds.”  
“No, they are not. No, they are not. Now, I would be remiss in my manners if I didn't ask you if you'd like me to call you a cab. Obviously, we're neither of us fit to drive.”  
A way out. It's like a lit doorway in a dark room. He should go. “I should go.” But he doesn't move.  
“Another drink, then? For the road.”  
“Yes. Please.” He stands, walks with Alfred to the liquor cabinet. “You know,” he says conversationally, “When you approached me in the bar, I thought you had something else on your mind.”  
“Oh? And what might that be?”  
“I thought that you were trying to take me home.”  
Alfred hands him his drink. “Oh, but I have brought you home, Lucius. I have brought you home. Drink up.” Alfred touches the rim of his glass to Lucius'. Looking at Alfred over the glass, Lucius drinks. Alfred does, as well. He sets down his glass. Alfred sets down his, as well.  
“May I?” Lucius asks, raising his hand up to the location of Alfred's wound.  
Tilting his head back, Alfred swallows, the line of his throat undulating like a wave. “If you'd like.”  
Lucius moves aside Alfred's shirt, spreads his hand over Alfred's breast. The scar is under the center of Lucius' palm. He moves his hand up, over Alfred's throat, to the back of his neck.  
It's still, somehow, a surprise when Alfred kisses him.  
Belatedly, the second he closes his eyes, the full weight of the alcohol hits him. When he opens them again, everything is thick and hazy. Alfred's mouth tastes like gin, and his throat tastes like gin, and his shoulder tastes like gin, when Lucius pushes down his shirt and his vest, and the long line of scar tastes like gin when Lucius sweeps his tongue across it. Alfred's electric in his arms, trembling like the needle of a gauge. The alcohol must be getting to Alfred, too- who has, after all, drunk so much more than Lucius- because he's suddenly soft, swaying and falling against him like a boxer who's all but been knocked out. He sets his hands on Alfred's hips, steadies him, holds him close.  
Alfred slips his hand down Lucius' pants. “I'd like to go to my knees, but I might not make it up again,” he says. Suddenly, that's the most hilarious thing in the world, and Lucius can't help laughing aloud. Whether or not he actually finds it humorous, Alfred laughs along with him, one hand between his legs, the other on Lucius' cheek. “Don't let's both end up on the floor,” he says again gravely, but far more gently. Not gravely enough, certainly, because he punctuates it with another puff of laughter. Lucius looks at him, and he looks right back. There's no laughter this time, but they do both smile. Again, Lucius puts his hand on the back of Alfred's neck. It feels good there; he says so.  
“It's not so bad from this end, either,” Alfred murmurs,eyelids lowering.  
“Good,” Lucius says, letting himself lean into Alfred's hands. Both of them. “Good,” he repeats, softly, almost in a whisper. He closes his eyes.


End file.
